


Cold Storage

by AshaCrone



Series: For Family [3]
Category: Almost Human, Doom (2005), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Conspiracy, Gen, Mind fuckery, Mistaken Identity, Platonic friendships, mental programming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshaCrone/pseuds/AshaCrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day they pulled John Kennex's body out of the ocean, John Kennex was already two hours late for work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The day they pulled John Kennex's body out of the ocean, John Kennex was already two hours late for work. 

It wasn't even entirely his fault. His alarm hadn't gone off. (Okay, it had. He had somehow broken it when he hit the snooze button.) His coffee maker decided to explode; the coffee pod tray had cracked when he had put it in and the pressure from the hot water had made it shoot out again and he had been scalded. Perhaps then it was fortunate that his shower had gone freezing cold that morning. His leg hurt like a bitch and wouldn't hold a full charge; the anti-rejection drugs had run out and he needed to refill later. Plus, his bottle of olive oil was empty.

When he had left it had been raining, already thirty minutes behind. He decided to stop at Duncan Donuts for a couple dozen and some coffees, figuring that he would need to sooth Maldonado's feathers. Thus when he got of his car, he dropped his phone and it was the latest victim of a hit and run in LA. 

At least he was able to get the donuts.

Rain slowed the traffic down to a crawl as several fender benders and one pile-up later (he'd stopped to help, because he was a cop, dammit, that was what he did-)

His umbrella decided to get stuck and he was forced to walk through the rain into the building, opening the door and stepping back from the sheer cacophony inside. Something big must have gone down this morning. His head and shoulders were soaked, and he hoped the coffees were still hot. Maybe he could get Dorian to help warm them up (because the look on Paul's face when he did so would be priceless.) It would help salvage _something_ from this absolutely shitty morning-

He walked in the door, and silence fell. 

"What?" John asked, shaking water out of his hair. Everyone, beat cop, detective, and MX unit alike, had stopped dead in their tracks to stare. "Yeah, I know, donuts. I hate that stereotype too. But they're fresh." He wrinkled his nose as he caught an unexpected whiff, mixed with body odor and stale sweat."Yesterday."

No one said a word. He noticed that Valerie's eyes were red rimmed, eyes puffy, and that Dorian's jaw was gaping. Captain Maldonado, who had a phone to her ear, slowly put it down on her desk.

"Guys?" No answer, but Dorian got up and was walking towards him like he had seen a ghost. "Come on. I know I don't usually offer to buy but I knew I needed something to bribe people with..." he trailed off as Dorian kept coming closer. "What's going on?"

Dorian took the donuts. "You're you." He frowned, shaking his head slowly. "Biometric data all matches the last time I saw you."

"Er... shouldn't it?" John lifted an eyebrow. God, Dorian... "Where the hell did you just scan me?"

"So you're saying that you're one hundred percent certain that this is John Kennex?" Maldonado asked, walking up behind Dorian. 

"I know I'm an asshole but bringing in donuts doesn't qualify for people to start questioning who I am," John said, voice rising. "What the hell is going on here?" 

"A man, matching your description and short a leg, washed up near Santa Monica this morning," Captain Maldonado said, voice breaking. "We couldn't get hold of you, and when we sent an officer to your apartment it looked like there had been a fight."

"That's how it always looks, especially after my coffee maker attacks me," John said, his ears starting to buzz. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dorian's bottom lip quiver. He couldn't be hearing this. None of this could be real. "I knocked my clock off the stand and it broke. My phone was killed when I went inside the Duncan Donuts. Dammit, I've just had a really lousy morning!"

"He's my partner, Captain Maldonado," Dorian said, voice soft and quiet. "This is the man who woke me up."

"FINALLY!" he groused, hands up in the air. "You were starting to worry me there for a minute!"

"John, we ran this guy's fingerprints, his DNA. They all came up as matching _yours_ ," Maldonado replied, crossing her arms. "Until you walked in we were all convinced you were dead."

"Well, as you can see, I'm _not_!" John yelled, taking back the donuts. "I don't know how or who-"

"Didn't you hear me? _This man is identical to you._ "

"But he's _not_ me." John stepped back. "You heard Dorian. I'm me. Still the same guy he saw last night who dropped him off and tucked him into his charger."

Maldonado took a deep breath and nodded. "Report to the labs. I want to make sure everything is all right."

"Fine," John grumbled. "Let's get this over with."

 

To be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

Dorian wondered if this was to be his equivalent of hell. 

That morning he had removed himself from his charger in Rudy's dungeon, gone through John's work emails (and his personal, though John didn't need to know that.) and calendar. They had any number of cases to work on, people to help, and reports to file. John hated that last part. 

He decided to get an early start- after all, he didn't need sleep- because it would mean a less grouchy John. A less grouchy John meant that he might be able to coax a few more stories out of the man. Dorian liked the ones about John's father and his days on the force. 

The call had come in when John was scheduled to arrive... not that Dorian held out much hope of John ever being on time. He seemed to think that timeliness was for other people, people with annoying mechs for partners and _really, Dorian? Shut up and warm my coffee_.

He had intercepted the call, standing straight up as he heard Captain Maldonado gasp. He eavesdropped on anything that had to do with John: his personal files, his calls, random gossip. When he heard them say that ' _John Kennex was found this morning..._ '

Dead was dead. He accessed every memory instantly, every discussion that they had about the topic of death and what it meant. About how you spoke to the grieving. John was in a better place. Dorian would always remember John, and so would his friends. Dead was dead.

Sometimes Dorian hated his OS. 

"Dorian," the Captain said, coming out of her office. She paused, taking in his face. "You heard?"

Dorian nodded. He forced through a block to keep his facial muscles from contorting as his OS booted up the mourning subroutine. He needed to stay focused... but if it was that easy to deny his core programming, he wouldn't have been shut down to begin with.

"Come with me, then. We have to go identify the body."

Dorian nodded again, envying humans who could not always control their emotional responses. He wanted his lips to quiver. He wanted to feel tears.

He followed the Captain out.

~*~*~*~*~

None of this made sense.

They arrived at the morgue a few minutes later, walking through air filled with the scents of cut bowels and rotted flesh. He did not have the gag reflex of humans, and the Captain was an old hand despite the faint green cast to her skin. 

Several bodies were laid out on cold steel trays, all nude and bare to the world. Death was given no dignity when there was an autopsy to be performed. Some were already opened up, various coroners and forensic anthropologists elbows deep in their bowels as they cut, pulled and weighed. The sound of a bone saw tore through his ears, and he had to dial back his aural sensitivity. Captain Maldonado was wincing beside him. 

The body of John Kennex had yet to be autopsied, but there were marker lines along his face and chest where they planned to cut later. 

"I do not understand," Dorian murmured, running every scan he could. "His DNA indicates normal aging, so he is not a clone."

The man on the slab was severely emaciated and had bed sores. The amputated leg had healed, but it lacked the ports for a synthetic limb. Muscle and bone density were greatly decreased. His hair was several centimeters longer, but it was thin, indicating illness and malnutrition. While skin was usually waxy in death, his pallor was unnatural for a olive skinned man who regularly went outdoors.

"And you said you saw John last night?" Captain Maldonado asked, one arm crossed across her body while she rubbed her lips in thought. "That he was perfectly fine?"

"Yes. You have noticed then."

"Yeah. The coroner called time of death this morning, but..." She took the dead man's left forearm and turned it towards Dorian. "Did you see this?"

Up the dead man's forearm was a tattoo of a hooded figure, bearing a scythe. "Yes. Death. John doesn't have one."

The Captain shook her head. "Not just that." She traced her fingers along the edges... indicated a thin seam of scarring around the outline. Then she went to John's shoulder... and the faint discoloration there, along with more scarring. "I remember John's stupid tribal tat. He got it to impress Anna. It's gone. Not just gone."

"Excised?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "We're going to send a patrol car out to John's apartment... but this just isn't adding up. This man _is_ John Kennex. But-"

"He's not the man who brought me back to Rudy's last night," Dorian interrupted. "He's not the man who woke me up."

"Which makes even less sense. We've got a world full of identity verification: retinal scans, DNA scans, various other biometric scans. The man we call Detective may be a loose cannon and a bit of a cowboy," and he and Maldonado shared a faint smile, "and he's a fucking wreck sometimes, but he's never had any issue with scanners. His personality profile was the same when we account for the sheer hell the bastard went through."

Dorian found himself opening his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again.

"What is it?" the Captain's sharp eyes caught Dorian's hesitation. "The guy's dead on the table. You can't hurt him."

"It's nothing, Captain."

"You sure?" Her sharp tone said she didn't believe in for an instant, but she was willing to go along with it for now. "He was one of ours, Dorian. We can't let this go."

"John _is_ one of ours, Captain," Dorian said, voice quiet. "And we can't forget that, either."

She grunted... and they turned to leave.

~*~*~*~*~

Dorian stared at John, unblinking.

John Kennex had come in the station house, soaking wet, balancing a bright orange box of donuts (the donut machine was down) and grousing about the cliché. He was, understandably, upset to find out about his supposed death.

Dorian couldn't stop staring.

This man _was_ the man who woke him up. Biometrics all matched. This was the man who was a total ass- he hadn't been lying to 494- yet who had watched his back like he was human. The man who had shot one of those creepy MX units because he had started insulting Dorian's model. _This_ was the man was the closest thing he had to a friend in the world. 

He fell in behind John after the Captain sent them to the lab. His sensors all picked up signs of distress: John's blood pressure was up, swearing under his breath, his muscles were tense up and down his spine. There was flushing of his ears and cheeks as John began to reek of adrenaline. 

"I am glad you are alive, John," Dorian said, and he meant it. Being assigned to another detective would have been unpleasant. When he had thought John was dead, it was like waiting to be shut down again. Empty and cold. Yet he knew that there was no way for John to be repaired and brought back online. Humans could repair themselves only as long as they were still functioning.

"Why the hell would someone want to _clone_ me? " John asked, ignoring Dorian's comment. He refused to look at his partner. "I mean, I'm a sorry enough bastard. What the hell would anyone get out of-"

"John, I don't think this was a clone."

He turned to Dorian, taken aback, eyes almost crossed in confusion. "What do you mean? It has to be. I'm pretty damn sure I'm John Kennex, and you verified it in front of the entire department. I mean, I had enough fucking psyche evals, _memory_ evals when they were checking me out of the hospital. I remember my dad, my mom, how I put those trophies in the goddamn trophy room. I remember-"

"And yet you feel you must keep going to the Recollectionist." Dorian stopped in the halls. "You are my partner, and you woke me up. But John..." He searched the human's eyes for any sign of understanding.

"Do you remember the fight with Danica?" 

John blinked. "Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow as a quick smile came and went. He absently opened up the donut box and crammed half a chocolate covered, creme filled artery destroyer inside his mouth.

"You didn't survive it." Dorian saw the confusion on John's face, that he wasn't following. "I saw you on the floor, John. Your neck was broken."

John inhaled, choking, and Dorian snatched away the remaining donuts and John's cold coffee before he spilled both. Dorian looked around; there was no one there to observe the tableau. 

"D-" he coughed, swallowed, and straightened. "Dorian, that- that's impossible. I just blacked out for a moment. If my neck was broken you'd think I'd remember it!"

"But you did; I can play it back for you if you like. Then you used a solid steel stanchion like a baseball bat with enough force to knock down a military grade bot." Dorian found himself inhaling, even if it wasn't necessary. "And then you kicked her."

"With my _synthetic_ leg." John's voice was starting to rise. "I kicked her with my _synthetic_ leg!"

"Newton's third law: every action has an equal and opposite reaction." Dorian saw how red John's face was, and hoped that he didn't overreact. Of course, given whom he was talking to, that would likely be a vain hope. "You should have wound up flat on your back, potentially breaking your own bones from the impact. You didn't."

John went silent, though his chest was heaving like a bellows in the quiet of the hall. "Let's get down to the lab. Get this shit sorted out once and for all," he growled, pushing past Dorian and towards the doors.

Neither said a word when the John shoved through... and the handle came free. 

 

To be continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been watching Almost Human, and I'm pleased to find that it seems to have found itself. This last episode, I felt, was particularly good because it finally started giving us more of a myth arc and that was what was necessary for me to start feeling invested in the story. Yay. 
> 
> On a side note, I may not be a physist, but I do remember my martial arts well enough to know not to overextend yourself, as well as that you need to brace yourself. If John was kicking Danica with enough force to knock her into another room, the rest of his body had to be equally braced for the reaction to it. While it might be possible, it seems highly unlikely.
> 
> Plus, anyone else moved stanchions around? Granted, I'm female, but I move a good ten to twelve of them around fairly often. Those are _heavy_ fuckers. John swinging one like a ball bat just... wow. That's crazy. There is a reason the scene of Ozymandias hitting Rorschach with one was so shocking- _those things can be fucking heavy._
> 
> And last, but not least. Concrit is welcome. I need to swallow my pride and temper, and thus may take a few days getting back to you, but I need to put my big girl panties on and accept it with a thanks. Shooting off before I have time to think is a weakness, and I will try to learn from this last, stupid incident on my part. My apologies.


	3. Chapter 3

Anyone who knew John knew that he tended to be irritable. He was moody, cranky, and communicated almost entirely through snark. He was able to put on a kind face for Valerie, because it was hard not to; he kept a thin veneer of respect for Captain Maldonado, and he knew how to be gentle to those who were suffering, keep them calm and give them reassurance. 

He and Dorian beat the shit out of each other verbally, but it was because Dorian was his partner. He could take it, and John trusted him to hit back just as hard. 

John Kennex went about his day growling and snapping, but that was because, in the back of his head, there was always screaming. He didn't know where it came from, or who was doing it, but it never, ever stopped. Ever since he had awoken from his coma, it had been there. Like the feeling a knife sawing on violin strings. That any moment now, he would snap; he had to stop himself from clawing off his own skin. The scream never let him forget the self-loathing and guilt from the failed mission. Looking into his own bathroom mirror was a trial. Every morning he was greeted with a face he hated. 

Going to the Recollectionist for the first time had been a relief... Then, and only then, did the scream go away.

~*~*~*~*~

"If you saw my neck break, why didn't you report it?" John asked, as soon as they got into the patrol car. His put his hands on the steering wheel, just before jerking them back. He was afraid it would come free in his hands like the stupid door handle.

The look Dorian gave him didn't need words. Dorian had covered for his trips to the Recollectionist, and his repeated use of memory-enhancing drugs. That he would cover for his partner's apparent resurrection should not have been a surprise. 

"You don't remember anything?"

John shook his head, grabbing another donut- it was getting on towards lunch and his stomach was throttling his spine- and cramming it in his mouth. He turned a thousand-yard stare out the windshield; the rain was starting to taper off, leaving the air muggy and close. He triggered the ignition, and pulled out to head towards the lab building, finishing one donut before snatching another to hang from his lips to avoid talking.

"John, I understand that this might be traumatic for you, but you need to try."

He didn't answer. Dorian snatched the donut from his mouth.

"Hey!"

"John, we need to talk about this." Blue streaks were dancing up and down the sides of his face, and his usually calm face was disquieted. "I was afraid I lost you, John." He put his hand on John's arm. "Please. Talk to me."

The sounds of the street were unnaturally loud in the small patrol car, and John fought to keep his eyes on the road. 

"Do you think... do you think _I'm_ the clone?" His voice didn't quaver. He was proud of that. He was having trouble getting air past the vice on his chest.

"I think you're John Kennex," Dorian said, firmly. "And I am glad _you_ are alive." He paused. "Questionable judgment aside."

John focused on that: on Dorian's hand on his arm, on the too-sweet taste of the chocolate cake donut with rainbow sprinkles in his mouth, the scent of strong, cold coffee and old deodorant on top of sweat. He started to breathe a bit easier.

"I just stabbed her in the back of the neck with the EMP spike." He kept looking at the road. "The MX's had done their job, giving me a distraction and I took it while she reloaded." He frowned. "She was slow. You'd think a military grade bot would reload faster but... I took the shot." 

John had leapt at her, rolling to his feet, and had nearly filled his pants when the spike didn't work. Hand-to-hand had been a ludicrous response, but if he had run she would have gotten a weapon and shot him in the back. As it was, she had only pounded-

The angle had been all wrong. He remembered the impact; the sound of his own tendons and muscles pulled taut and past, and the crack like a shotgun-

The memory flashed, echoing inside his head and he jerked, twisting the wheel blindly. Drivers blared their horns as they were cut off as John careened them through two lanes of traffic. Dorian yelped, before taking control of the vehicle and directing it towards the nearest exit.

John yanked at the wheel; Dorian had locked it, but it spun anyways as it ripped free of the dash in his hands. His chest worked, bellowing in and out as his hands trembled enough to make the wheel shake.

"John," Dorian said, and John heard him through the sound of gunfire, stalking a monster in the dark ( _but the bar had been brightly lit_ ) trying to find a monster ( _right in front of him_ ) as the face went from beautiful to demonic right before his eyes. 

"John, I'm here."

"She called my name." He was blinking, rapidly, and he couldn't tell whose voice was screaming. "She said my name and I got up."

"Who?" Dorian directed the car into a parking lot; John could see some bright yellow sign of some sort, but he didn't actually _see_ it. All that mattered was hearing that voice call his name. 

"I- I don't know." He took a deep, shuddering breath as he dropped the wheel in his lap, clutching at his throat in a futile gesture. Trying to grab at the memories was just as pointless and they drained out of his mind through the many, many cracks.

"Was it Anna?"

John shook his head. Not her. He knew that.

"Danica?"

John looked up at Dorian with an incredulous expression. Now why the hell would the XRN know his name, or even care to use it?

"There wasn't anyone else there, John. Just you, me, and Danica," Dorian said, but he sounded strained. "Are you back with me?"

"Yeah. Other than remembering that I should be paralyzed from the neck down or in a body bag," he said, clenching his fists. Breathing was hard, and he opened the door, trying for some fresh air to clear his head-

The noise bowled him over, forcing him to his knees as the stench of smog overloaded his lungs and he gagged, throwing up his donuts and coffee in a brownish mess all over the asphalt. 

A small, detached part of John's mind noticed Dorian frantically scrambling after him, rubbing his back. Dorian was lost, though, as brakes squealed, horns shrieked, human excrement and pollution poured over him in a wave of filth. 

_Too much... too much... makeitstopwhatthehellisHAPPENING?_

Dorian was calling his name, but it wasn't enough. His heart was racing, his skin was cold and clammy and it was _too loud, too big, too much-_

Blackness draped over his eyes, muffling the howl of pain that filled the air as he's pulled against a cool, unyielding frame and he realized, finally, when his throat turned raw that the screaming was coming from _him_.

He was the one doing the screaming; it always had been.

To be continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected snow day means more writing because focusing on important things is for... people other than me, apparently. Here you go.

**Author's Note:**

> Cyberbutterfly and anon, I blame you. Thanks, meant seriously and with bit of exasperation. I usually don't write for shows that aren't well established yet. I did that back in Kyou Kara Maou (and realized how bad my Japanese was) and my story was very much Jossed by the end of the series. I have an idea of how I want this to go, but that might change depending on how Almost Human plays out. Until then, I hope you have fun with it.


End file.
